


Bird Boy

by elliemorris



Series: Stephen King's It [7]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Birds, Discrimination, Gen, Poetry, Suicide, anti-Semitism, religious discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliemorris/pseuds/elliemorris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem about Stanley Uris from Stephen King's IT, written for TheyAllFloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird Boy

North American birds were his favourite;  
sitting by the fountain of Memorial Park, his father gave him his first binoculars,  
chrome and black, state-of-the-art technology.  
An only child, he loved those birds like brothers—  
they were his comfort  
when school went wrong and  
he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Bowers knew him as the spoilt Jewish boy back in ‘57,  
only because his father was a lay-about and  
hadn’t a penny to his name.  
His faith had nothing to do with it;  
he was just a Loser in need  
of feathered friends.

Spying on the mating of the warbler species,  
he was covered in hues of purple and green,  
black and blue.  
To go home and complain of discrimination  
was painful, embarrassing.  
Tears were shed, but not his own;  
it would only hurt his parents.  
Who said prejudice would stop at the end of World War II?  
The hatred never ceased.  
Not for one moment.

Blood ran cold  
as dead fingers beckoned  
from that old, rich house in the posh district.  
They were icy, dripping wet,  
almost scaly as they giggled and begged him to come;  
be their friend!  
“Finch, sparrow, robin, warbler!”  
He screamed as they closed in on him.  
To him it was only a bad dream;  
there was a reasonable explanation for everything.

Sunshine escaped the melancholy mask of clouds  
in the summer of 1958  
when the Losers were united in misery.  
He kept his birds,  
but only as second best;  
for now he had allies in the war of education.

In the sunset of the dog-days  
they defeated the beast,  
scratching two bullies off the face of the earth forever,  
plus one clown.  
This was thirty years ago…  
But he couldn’t do this anymore.  
The game of Life was too much; he gave up  
with a sharp, bleeding scrawl of scarlet ink;  
“IT” screamed from the wall  
like an owl in the night.  
And down in the sewers, the clown cawed with laughter:  
1 out of 7 ain’t bad.


End file.
